Nude, Bathing Katy Perry Disrespects Pizza

By MIKE HESS

While analyzing this TwitPic photograph of a nude Katy Perry bathing with a pizza pie propped up over her (and hence, covering her naughty parts) is certainly unnecessary, I’m really drawn in by two elements of it:

1. That looks like a very well-made pizza. See those char blisters on the crust? That’s a good thing, and likely a sign of a wood-fired oven. The cheese looks pretty meh, and is obviously not fresh, but that char flavor is something I’ll take any day over subpar cheese. This begs the question as to whether the pizza was delivery (Digiorno?), room service … or if Katy went for the gusto and tried her hand at pizzamaking. If that’s the case, I do hope she was clothed while partaking.

2. Who eats pizza in the bath? A glass of wine and perhaps some sort of confection, sure. But pizza? How can one successfully eat pizza while maintaining the integrity of the product if one’s hands are wet? Soggy hands make for soggy pizza, and soggy pizza makes for a sad Mike Hess. So, while I’d like to think that Miss Perry either never got her hands wet or dried them prior to each handling of the pizza, I am officially depressed because I know that likely is not the case.

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Comments

Remember that scene in the Shining with that corpse in the bathtub? Yah, this reminded me of that, but without the rot and with a pizza. But both gave me goosebumps and the slight tinge of vomit in my throat.

This is why pizza has a bad name. Crazy people like this, using poor pizza as sloppy cover-ups, in the wrong context. Also, Mike, this is my first read of your posts. I agree, pancakes can suck, but what do you think of hashbrowns??

About Me

Oysters. Bone Marrow. Spanish hams. Fish tacos. Shanghai soup dumplings. Sea urchin. Summer tomatoes still warm from the sun. There, my favorite foods are out of the way. To cut to the chase, food is in my genes. My father, grandfather and great grandfather were butchers. I've cooked for fun and pay since I can remember, helping out at my dad's catering company/butcher shop and eventually the catering wing of Zagat's highest-rated restaurant in the country (you've never heard of it). Why am I not a chef or caterer? I'm just too much of a pansy. I didn't want the hours/heat/instability to ruin my love for cooking, so now it's pure recreation. Since ditching the chef idea, I've written for many major news networks and magazines, spanning everything from a blood-soaked Marine invasion into Fallujah to Britney Spears' underwear (lack of, actually) to properly sourcing pork. I hope to share the deliciousness of life with you. Also, pancakes suck.